Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
by Mosteyn
Summary: A Secret Santa gift for Scarletcourt ! The request was for a story with characters from her continuation series "The Bransons in London" and "Listening to the wireless". Its turned out to be a bit of a monster, so I am afraid I am breaking the rules and it won't be a one shot - but I hope you enjoy it ! Its set at Christmas, 1940.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** So this is the beginnings of my contribution to the S/T 2018 secret santa for Scarletcourt ! She asked for a story that was a continuation of the characters in her stories "The Bransons in London" and "Listening to the Wireless". So here it is. It's turned into a bit of a behemoth, so there will be at least one or maybe two more chapters (hopefully before Jan 6th !) Its the first time I have taken the family into WW2, so something new for me ! _

* * *

**Christmas Eve, 1940**

Mary, Countess of Grantham, couldn't help but shiver as she looked out of the window of the library. The sky was a slate grey, heavy in the half light of late afternoon, the low clouds holding promise of even more snow. The ground in front of her was pure white, flattening the contours and making it look as if a passing giant had dropped a freshly laundered handkerchief on the park and smoothed it out. It was eerily silent.

She never used to notice the silence, being so accustomed to it, but a year into this new war, silence came with a sense of dread. She found herself listening to it, waiting for it to be broken by the ring of the telephone or the thrum of aircraft overhead. Downton lay within a few miles of two Bomber Command airfields , and the sight and sound of the planes had become part of life. But you never got used to them, she thought. She could never see them without thinking of the young men - _very_ young men - inside them and, by extension, George, who was stationed on an airfield miles away to the south and who would not be home for Christmas. It was an ever present ache - something she knew Matthew felt keenly too, although they never spoke of it by an unsaid mutual consent.

"When will they be here, Aunt Mary ?"

She looked down to see her nephew Quin, Sybil's quiet, introspective child standing beside her, his nose almost touching the window. Sybil's three youngest children had been staying with them at Downton since the bombing raids had begun in earnest in September. The twins were no doubt somewhere with Jack or Matilda, but whilst he got on with his cousins, Quin preferred to be on his own. Mary suspected that of the three of them, he was the one who missed his parents the most. It had been several months since he had seen them.

"Soon, darling. Jackson will go and collect them in about half an hour. You must be looking forward to seeing your Mama and Papa," she said.

Quin nodded. "And Patrick." Sybil's oldest son had stayed at home, not wanting to change schools.

"Is is very dangerous in London, Aunt Mary ? With all the bombs ?"

Mary sighed. As much as she and Matthew tried to protect the younger children from what was going on in the world, it was inevitable that the war would make its way into her nursery. She knew that Henry listened to the news on the wireless in the schoolroom, despite it only being there for Children's Hour. Which meant that the younger children heard it too. "People are safe in the shelters, darling. Your Mama says they're alright, doesn't she ? Now - why don't you run down and see if Mrs Parker has any biscuits ?"

Quin smiled broadly at this and scurried away in the direction of the door to the kitchen, no longer a division between two worlds as far as the children were concerned, but more of a gateway to a treasure trove of sweet delights. All five of Mary's children and their cousins had been in and out of the kitchens at Downton since they could walk and had seen no reason to stop as they grew older, despite Mary's half-hearted disapproval.

Mary watched him go. Quin had voiced a concern that troubled her more than she was letting on. Ever since September, the news from London of nightly bombardments had put her on edge. When she talked to Sybil on the telephone her sister had seemed increasingly weary, despite her protestations that everything was all right and they were all coping. She was considering returning to nursing. Privately, Mary wished she wouldn't. Surely campaigning with the Six Point Group and looking after her husband and son in a city that was under the nightly assault by the Luftwaffe was stressful enough ? Sybil assured her that the most of the bombs were falling on the east of London, far away from their flat in South Kensington. But it still made Mary nervous and she was extremely glad that her sister and her family had agreed to spend the holiday with them at Downton.

* * *

Sybil had only been partially honest with her sister. It was true that the heaviest bombardments were on the docks, but not all bombs were on target. A stray bomb could land anywhere, and only last week one had fallen on the Natural History museum, less than a quarter of a mile away. She, Tom and Patrick had been safe in the underground station, but it had been disturbing to come up and see the damage on the way home. Camping out in the underground had become routine, but there was little privacy and even less chance of a good night sleep. Patrick slept like a log anywhere, but on the nights when Tom was not on duty as a fire watcher the two of them would cuddle together and doze. When Tom was on duty she would sit up all night with a thermos of tea and try not to imagine what he might be dealing with up above them, or to think of Quin and the twins. If she did, alone in the press of humanity huddled in the depths of the station, she would find herself fighting back tears and fiercely telling herself that they were safe. She would only relax when the all clear had gone and they arrived home to find him tired and grimy, heating up the water for a bath before going to work. Sitting in the northbound train she could feel herself start to relax, and with every passing station it was as if a small part of that constant, nagging worry left her and slipped out of the carriage door. Tom had fallen asleep beside her, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and Patrick was content to stare out of the window. By the time they got to York and had to change trains, Sybil felt almost lighthearted. London might be under siege, but Downton was still standing and as safe as houses.

York was noticeably colder than London, and the air smelt clean and crisp. The station was busy. Before the war, it would be lit up with strings of Christmas lights twinkling away in the dusk, but now it was dark, illuminated only by the thin light of the weak winter sun. Figures hurried across the bridge over the platforms, eager to get home for the holiday. Many of them were in uniform, those lucky servicemen with leave at Christmas. This made Sybil think of Nora, who was due to meet them at Downton. It would be the first time in months that she would all five of their children under the same roof.

Tom had taken charge of their luggage and was leading them towards the platform for the Downton train. Patrick was walking beside him, carrying his suitcase and a bag of books slung over his shoulder. From behind they were almost the same height. Patrick's shoulders were starting to broaden, but he still looked gangly compared to his father's solid frame. At the start of the war, he was still a boy, but the last year had seen him grow up rather quickly, especially once Nora had joined up. He was too interested in the war for Sybil's liking. He could recognise any aircraft by its silhouette and had followed Dunkirk almost obsessively. He idolised Mr Churchill, which irked Tom no end. As it was, Tom had agreed with Churchill's stance over appeasement, but he had lived long enough to remember that Churchill had been plenty wrong in the past. Thank goodness it would be another three years before Patrick would be called up. Perhaps, she thought, it would all be over by then. Thinks might look particularly bleak at the moment, but there was always hope.

As they left York behind and headed up into the moors, they could see that it had been snowing. The bare hills were dusted with white, making them shine bright in the late afternoon light. Tom didn't like what he saw.

"I hope Nora didn't leave it too late to set out," he said.

Sybil reached out and squeezed his hand.

"We mustn't worry. She's a very good driver. She knows what she is doing."

"I know, but - " he looked down at her hand and turned his own over to squeeze it back.

"- you're her father," Sybil finished for him, smiling. "But she's not a little girl any more. She's a clever, resourceful young woman. And she's in the Army."

Tom sighed and looked out of the window, still holding Sybil's hand. Patrick looked up from his book.

"Nor'll be fine," he said, completely unconcerned. "She knows more about cars than you do, Dad."

This got Tom's attention.

"I don't think she does"

"She's done all those courses. Big trucks and everything. And she fixed the Austin when you…."

"That was just because I didn't have time…"

"Why don't you finish your book, darling," said Sybil, keen to put a stop to any squabble between father and son before it started. "We'll be there soon."

They scowled at each other for a moment, before Tom turned away again and settled back to stare out of the window. Patrick picked up his book and the family swayed onward to Downton.

* * *

By the time they stepped onto the platform at Downton Station it was even colder. A frosted layer of snow made the platform crisp underfoot and a few stray flakes were just beginning to fall, pinpricks of white against the now-dark sky. There was a solitary lamp in the stationmaster's office, its warm, welcoming glow spilling out and pooling around the door and making Sybil long to be inside. How many times had she alighted from a train on this platform ? It didn't seem to matter. Whenever she did, wherever her life was and whatever was going on in the world around them, stepping onto this platform always felt completely and utterly familiar, like slipping on a favourite pair of slippers. And now her children were only a few miles away.

Beyond the platform they could see Jackson the chauffeur hovering and blowing on his hands. He sprang forward as soon as he realised they had seen him.

Tom greeted him first.

"Has my daughter arrived yet ?"

"Miss Nora rang earlier to say she would be a little late."

Tom looked back at Sybil, alarmed.

"Did she say why ? Had she broken down ?"

"She said that she was fine and you weren't to worry. She'd be there as soon as she could."

Tom found this answer most unsatisfactory.

"What are the roads like ?"

"They're fine, Mr Branson. It snowed last night but its not icy."

"It will be later," said Tom, apprehension obvious in his voice. Jackson busied himself with loading the luggage.

"Darling, I'm sure she's fine. She's not coming on the main roads, not over the moors. Have a little more faith in your daughter," smiled Sybil as she stepped into the back of the car.

"I do have faith in her," Tom muttered behind her, "But the weather can change so quickly when it's like this. Don't you remember ?"

Of course I do, Sybil thought, but I also remember how frighteningly _capable_ Nora had seemed when she'd been home on leave last time. She knew that Tom knew this too in his heart of hearts, and normally he would be the first to encourage Nora in taking risks and in living life to the full, as he'd encouraged her at the same age. But the war had made him far more circumspect, especially now, after Dunkirk, when Britain seemed to stand with her back to the wall, cornered and virtually defenceless. Tonight it seemed that his apprehension extended to the natural environment as well. It was as if he truly believed the whole world was against them.

* * *

Downton village was strangely dark and quiet for a Christmas Eve. Sybil barely noticed.

"I can't wait to see them," she whispered to Tom. "It's been so long …."

"Me too," he said with a smile.

By the time they pulled onto the long drive at Downton, Sybil could hardly sit still. The great house loomed out of the night, dark and rather sinister. Before the war, the house would be twinkling like a fairy palace at Christmas, dozens of lights sparkling at a hundred windows, throwing out a warm winter welcome with the promise of a grand festive season. Tonight it looked sober and subdued, but Sybil found its familiar bulk reassuringly permanent. It looked safe.

She was out of the car before Jackson and before Barrow had a chance to properly open the front door. Mary and Matthew were just coming out of the library.

"Darling ! You're here at last ! How was the train journey ?" Mary hurried forward to embrace her sister and kiss her cheek.

"Long," said Sybil, "but we're here now. Safe and sound," Patrick and Tom had followed her in. Matthew greeted them warmly.

"Any news of Nora ?" asked Tom, his brow creased in concern. "We thought she'd be here by now"

"She telephoned at lunchtime to say she would be here in time for dinner, a little later than expected. Something about a surprise. She was being very mysterious," said Mary. "I couldn't get any more out of her."

"I hope -"

"MAMA !"

Two pairs of boyish feet thundered down the stairs into the saloon. Quin reached the bottom first and almost launched himself at Sybil and into a fierce hug. She gathered him to her and her heart leapt at the familiar shape of his body and the wonderful clean smell of his hair.

Aiden was right behind his brother, gangly in his short trousers. She gathered him in too.

"Oh my darlings ! I've missed you so much ! And look at you ! You look so well !"

"I missed you too, Mama ! And Da !" Quin was on the verge of tears.

There, there," Sybil soothed, wiping his cheek. "No tears ! It's Christmas Eve !"

Tom laid a hand on his son's smooth head.

"I missed you too, Quin. And you, little man !" he said, sweeping Aiden off his feet and into his arms. Aiden planted a wet kiss on his cheek and grinned. He pointed to the Christmas tree.

"Father Christmas is coming !"

"Indeed he is !" laughed Tom. "But only if you've been a good boy," he added seriously. Aiden nodded frantically.

"I bin very good !"

"Is that so ?" Tom asked

Cathleen had taken the stairs at a more careful pace hand in hand with the Nanny, with her cousins behind her.

"Daddy !" she cried, holding out her arms to be picked up. Tom was only too happy to oblige.

"Hello, sweetheart," he kissed her on the cheek. Sybil looked up from her boy to lean over and give her daughter a kiss too.

"Aunt Sybil ! Uncle Tom ! You're here !" Matilda, as the eldest in the nursery had taken it upon herself to greet her aunt and uncle on behalf of the Crawley children.

"Goodness, you all look so grown up !" said Sybil.

"You must be desperate for some tea," said Mary, deciding that some sort of order needed to be restored. "Nanny, please take the children back upstairs - "

"Mary, we haven't see Quin and the twins for _months_. Surely you won't mind if they have tea with us !"

"It _is_ Christmas," Matthrew pointed out.

"Please Mama !" said Matlida

Mary looked around. Every pair of eyes in the saloon was trained on her - even Barrow's, although he looked away when she caught his eye. Matthew was right. It was Christmas and there was a war on.

"Alright then. But only for half an hour, then Nanny will take you back to the nursery !"

* * *

Tea turned out to be quite a boisterous affair, with the Crawley children completely unable to sit still and do as they were told, instead spreading themselves out over the library and talking rather more loudly than Mary thought entirely necessary. Henry came in from the stables and he and Patrick disappeared upstairs. The twins sat on their parents laps for all of ten minutes before callously sliding off to play with Alice and Jack. Quin remained wedged between his mother and his father.

"Have you got a date for when you are moving in with Mama ?" Sybil asked.

"A week after New Year. The Red Cross want to get in as soon as possible. Mama says everything is ready for us at the Dower House."

"What about the staff ?"

"Nanny and Barrow will come with us. Anna will come up from the village, as will Mrs Parks. We'll have to let the housemaids go, though Jean and Ruby say they are going to join up."

"We're keeping the outside staff on," said Matthew.

"It'll be cramped after Downton." Even with Quin between them she could feel Tom tense slightly at this. The Dower House _was_ huge compared to most people's homes, but with three adults, six (seven when Henry was home from school) children and staff, it would feel cramped after Downton. She and Tom had bought up five children in a four bedroom mansion flat - but then they were used to it. Mary wasn't.

"It will," Mary agreed, "but the truth is that someone would want Downton for the war effort sooner or later, and we'd far rather it was a hospital than the Army. They won't do as much damage."

"It seems strange to think it being a hospital again," Sybil said, smiling as she allowed memories of herself stripping beds in the drawing room to dance in front of her. Other memories surfaced too; of feeling productive and useful and good at something, memories of her confusing feelings for Tom, which she could now admit were much more powerful that she had ever been willing to let on, even to herself. Memories of always dancing just out of his reach until she truly realised what she would give up if she she didn't marry him. Thank goodness I came to my senses, she thought. And here we are, nearly twenty years later and those feelings are just as strong.

A commotion over at the far window of the small library brought her back to the present. Someone had heard a car on the gravel outside and had pulled the heavy blackout curtains back an inch to peer out.

"It's Cousin Nora !"

"At last," said Tom, putting his teacup down

"Don't scold her, Tom, she's probably tired," Sybil said as he strode out into the saloon. "I don't want any arguments at Christmas," she sighed, getting up to follow him.

Tom entered the saloon just in time to see a slim, shapely young woman hand her big leather gloves and heavy Army greatcoat to Barrow. She looked very smart and neat in her khaki uniform. When she caught sight of Tom she broke into a huge grin.

"Da !"

Nora rushed over and gave him a big hug before her could say anything. All he could do was squeeze her back.

"What took you so long ! We've been worried…"

"Oh, I'm fine. I had to take a bit of a detour to York to pick up the surprise," she said, smiling and looking back over her shoulder as she broke away from Tom to greet her Mama.

For in the doorway a young man stood chatting to Barrow, who had relieved him of his cap and greatcoat. A young man in the uniform of an RAF flight lieutenant, tall and with golden hair that fell into his eyes. He surveyed the family gathering in the saloon and grinned.

"Hullo everyone"

Mary gasped.

"George !"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N :** _Here's part 2 (of what I think is going to be 3 !)_

* * *

 **Christmas day, 1940**

When Sybil awoke early on Christmas morning the first thing she was aware of was that she was warm and comfortable. Then she noticed the quiet. The only sound she could hear was Tom's regular breathing. She felt cocooned in the soft, velvet darkness of the room and it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. The last thing she could remember was talking to Tom in bed the previous night. She didn't even remember falling asleep. It was the first uninterrupted night's rest she had had for weeks, but she felt strangely exhausted, the weight of her body pulling her down into the mattress and back into sleep.

Beside her, Tom shifted and opened his eyes. He reached out underneath the covers to place a hand on her waist as a slow, lazy smile spread across his features.

"Happy Christmas, love."

She turned towards him, shuffling a little closer as he gathered her to him.

"Happy Christmas," she whispered into his chest.

"What time is it ?"

"It's still dark so it must be early," she started to turn to look at the clock beside the bed, but he pulled her closer.

"No matter. No one's up yet. Let's just go back to sleep."

She snuggled even closer, burying her nose into his chest as she felt his chin come to rest on the top of her head.

"I can't remember the last time I didn't have to get up," said Sybil.

Above her, Tom emitted a sound half way between a grunt and a sigh, a sure sign that he was drifting back to sleep. The world was silent, all her children were under the same roof, warm and safe, and she and Tom were together. London and the war seemed a million miles away. In her heart of hearts she knew this was just a temporary respite, a small, still period of calm in the madness, but that made it all the more precious. So she concentrated on the feel of Tom's cotton shirt under her cheek and allowed herself to be lulled back to sleep by the steady beating of his heart.

* * *

The Bransons slept late, so the breakfast room was already full by the time Tom arrived. Matthew was seated at the head of the table, where Robert had sat for so many years that it still surprised Tom when he saw him. Mary sat next to him. Nora and George were up. Nora had changed into normal clothes, but George was in his uniform. His surprise visit was by virtue of a last minute 48 hour pass, so he would have to leave tomorrow morning to get back to his base. They were joined by Patrick and Henry, deemed grown up enough to join their parents at breakfast. Breakfast was shaping up to be a jolly affair - George was in the middle of a tale of his life on the base and Nora was teasing him about something. She saw Tom first.

"Merry Christmas, Da !" Nora got up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle Tom !"

"Merry Christmas to you, too," he smiled, making his way to the buffet. "Something smells good !" He lifted up the silver tray closest to him. "Bacon !' he exclaimed. "You clearly haven't been feeling the pinch of rationing up here !"

"Thank goodness for the pigs," said Mary. "But don't think we eat like this all the time - we slaughtered one for Christmas."

"Well, I've not had bacon and eggs for months," said Tom, sitting down with a full plate. "It would raise a few eyebrows if we kept a pig in our flat,"

"We are lucky," said Matthew. "We've the pigs and the hens, and the kitchen garden gets put to good use. But we still see as little sugar as you do. And tea. Mrs Parker complains about it all the time. She says its quite put her off her stride."

"Is Mama coming down ?" asked Nora

"No, she having breakfast in the nursery with Quin and the twins."

"Are you going to Mass in Ripon this morning ?" asked Mary

Tom nodded.

"I hope you don't mind. I'd like us to go. I know there's no-one for Quin and the twins to go with here and I don't want them to forget they're Catholics."

"Of course not," said Matthew. "We're only sorry we couldn't find anyone to take them regularly."

"Lucky them," said Patrick under his breath, hissing as his sister kicked him hard underneath the table.

And so after breakfast the two families decamped in two different directions; the Crawleys to Downton village church and the Bransons to Ripon. By the time the Bransons returned Cora and Aunt Rosamund had arrived and it was almost time for lunch.

Lunch, as was traditional, was a buffet of cold cuts. All the children were present without Nanny, who was having lunch with the rest of the staff. This made for a rather noisy meal, with many injunctions not to drop food on the carpet, not to steal your sibling's food and to wipe one's fingers before touching anything. Mary and Sybil felt quite exhausted by the end of it, as Matthew and Tom had managed to be completely oblivious to their offspring running around as they talked about the Blitz and whether President Roosevelt would offer any help from the US. George and Nora sat in the corner, smoking and sharing what they were able of their experiences. Nora told him that she was about to train as a dispatch rider and was going to learn to ride a motorbike.

"Golly, Nor - have you told your Mama ? She'll have a fit !"

"Not yet. And actually, Mama's not the problem. I'm more worried about what Da'll say."

George laughed.

"Uncle Tom'll be jealous. I reckon he always wanted to learn to ride a motorbike."

"Well, maybe I can take him pillion," Nora smiled.

"it's funny, isn't it ?" he said, "still worrying what our parents will think when they have no say in what we do. They can't stop us doing our duty."

Nora turned to look back at her parents.

"They love us. It must be hard for them. Only a year ago we were barely out of school,"

She grew more serious, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. It made her look just like Sybil.

"Is it really bad up there, Georgie ?"

George's face was a mask. He turned and looked out of the window for a long while.

"It's my duty, Nor." He turned back to her with a sigh. "Most of the time I'm so busy that I can't think about anything else. I have to concentrate, otherwise we'd never get home. And I'm not alone."

"But - "

"Let's have a drink," he said, getting up. "Barrow - is there any Scotch left ?"

* * *

After lunch, the excitement of the younger children in the room mounted as it was time to open gifts. Presents this year were not extravagant, but rather were practical things that would be put to good use. There were toys and books, but it seemed wrong to have too much when all around them people were losing everything they had. Christmas was Cora's favourite time of the year simply because she could spoil her grandchildren. This year, she gave her youngest daughter's children sensible coats and sweaters that were maybe a little more expensive than their parents would have bought, as well as a new doll for Cathleen, books for Quin and Patrick and some games for Aiden. Nora received a charming but discreet new brooch. Sybil gave Tom a new wristwatch and he in turn handed her a thin flat box, which when she unwrapped it contained the most beautiful blue silk scarf and, much to her delight, two pairs of silk stockings.

"Wherever did you get these ?" she squealed. "I hope," she said looking at him sternly, "that you have not been buying things on the black market !"

Tom looked offended.

"Of course not ! These were purchased legitimately, Mrs Branson, so you've no need to worry !"

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, as giddy as a girl twenty years younger. It made his chest tighten with love to see her so happy and relaxed again, even if it was for just a fleeting moment in time. This is what it is all for, he thought. This is what we are all fighting for, and if it means that we can be free like this for always, it will be worth it.

* * *

Things settled down after a while as the children inspected their new toys and sat and played quietly for once. Quin had taken himself off to a corner of the room to read his new books without interruption. Sybil spied him behind a chair, head bowed, intently turning over the pages. Quiet by nature, he had been particularly reserved today, flitting like a ghost between his parents and his siblings and cousins. She got up and went to kneel beside him.

"What are you doing down here, darling ? Why don't you come and sit by the fire ?"

"It's alright, Mama. I want to look at my book."

"It looks an exciting book - why don't you show me ?" she said.

Quin shifted to give her room to sit beside him. She put an arm behind him and felt him sink his little body into hers. He smelt of soap and talcum powder. She couldn't resist giving his hair an affectionate rub. They sat quietly, turning the pages of the book, Quin pointing out something to her now and then, pleased to have his Mama's complete attention for once. Half way through, he turned to look up at her.

"Mama - can I go home with you and Da after Christmas ?"

Sybil's heart sank.

"Why ?" she said brightly. "Don't you like being here with your cousins ?"

Quin looked back at his book, disappointed.

"It's alright," he mumbled. A thought struck Sybil.

"Has anyone been horrid to you, darling ? Anyone at school ?'

He shook his head.

"No, Mama. I just want to be at home with you and Da."

"Oh, my darling," Sybil reached over and gathered him to her, hugging him tightly. She had to think carefully about what she said next.

"I want you to be home with us too," she said, thinking furiously. "But the thing is, Quin, Mama needs you to be here, to do a very important job and look after the twins. They're too little to be in London right now."

Quin frowned.

"Nanny looks after the twins,"

"Yes, but I need you to keep a special eye on them," she said. "Nanny's not the same as having your big brother with you. It makes them feel safe."

Quin thought about this and Sybil could feel him straighten up a little, sitting a little taller in the knowledge that he had been entrusted with a Very Important Job.

"All right," he agreed. "But you'll come and visit again, won't you ?"

Sybil kissed the top of his head.

"Yes, my darling. Of course we will."

* * *

Quite soon, it was dark and time for the nursery tea, which both sets of parents joined. Then it was time to retire and change for dinner. Perversely, Tom rather enjoyed changing into his dinner jacket and it was certainly lovely to see Sybil don one of her dresses from before the war. It made things seem normal. Everyone tried to make dinner a jolly affair, but they all knew George would be leaving in the morning. Mary was determined not to be downhearted about it. He was here, and for now that was all that mattered. After dinner everyone retired to the drawing room and the Game was played with great enthusiasm, George and Nora becoming quite competitive. But it felt good to laugh again. It was nearly eleven o'clock when Sybil and Tom finally wound their way upstairs to bed.

"Look, Tom - it's snowing !"

Sybil had pulled the curtains back and looked out as fat white flakes floated past and began to collect in the corner of the window. Outside, the park seemed to glow under a heavy blanket of cloud.

Tom came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, drawing her back to him. She leaned back into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I used to love Christmas," she said sadly, "but now all I do is wonder where we'll all be this time next year."

He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Don't think on it, love. We're here, now, with the children. Let's just enjoy what we've been given whilst we have it."

She reached up to stroke his cheek with a tender finger.

"Always so wise, Branson"

"Thank you, m'lady," he grinned.

Sybil smiled and reached up to kiss him, turning in his arms to pull him tight. Tom responded with enthusiasm and it was a while before they broke apart. Sybil sighed.

"Merry Christmas, Tom"

"Merry Christmas, love."

* * *

 **A/N** : _So George is an observer on a bomber - at this stage of the war, observers were responsible to navigating the plane, thus getting them to the target and then back home again without getting lost or running out of fuel. They were also responsible for aiming the bombs._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _bit late, but here is part 3. Did I say that there would be 3 chapters ? Well, turns out I'm wrong and there is at least one more before we get this story finished ! It's taken on a life of its own !_

* * *

 **Boxing day, 1940**

Breakfast was a subdued affair after the jollity of the evening before as everyone knew that George would have to leave shortly afterwards to catch a train. Mary was uncharacteristically quiet at the table, sipping her coffee and trying hard to put a brave face on it. It wouldn't help George if she dissolved into a puddle. Matthew was being his scrupulous calm and stoical self, trying hard to behave as this was any other morning with his family sat round the table.

The Earl and Countess planned on driving him to the station themselves, so at just before ten o'clock, Mary was pulling on her gloves in the saloon. Sybil stood beside her, her heart aching for her sister and feeling guilty that Patrick was not yet in the same situation. It wasn't exactly safe where Nora was, but in Sybil's mind it was no more dangerous than being at home. She couldn't say that about night flights over the continent in a bomber.

"Don't forget Edith and Anthony are coming for lunch with Emily and Felix," said Mary. "We should be back by then, but just in case they're early…."

"Go," said Sybil, gently pushing her sister towards the door. "Don't worry about that. We can cope with Edith and Anthony for half an hour if you're late back."

Tom came to stand beside her as they followed the three Crawleys out onto the drive where Matthew's car stood waiting. He was going to drive them himself.

"Is it wrong to be glad its not Patrick ?" she whispered as she watched George climb into the back.

"Maybe," he said, "but I'm glad too."

* * *

Edith and Sir Anthony arrived at lunchtime and stayed for the afternoon with their children. Edith, like Mary, was keen to see her younger sister safe and well. Neither she nor Anthony ventured very far from Loxley these days and their time and energy was taken up with running the estate with a dwindling and ageing workforce. Sybil couldn't help but notice that Edith seemed to be thriving and full of energy, but Anthony looked tired and somehow shrunken into himself. He had aged over the last year and she thought for the first time in her life that the gap in their ages seemed significant. Emily and Felix were away at school and were excited to spend time catching up with their cousins. Ted was not with them as he had recently started at agricultural college. Sybil knew that his studies were an unspoken source of tension between Edith and Mary. Before the war, George had planned to study Law, like his father, and Ted had been mad keen on going to Oxford to study history. But then when Ted left school over the summer, Edith had let it be known that he had decided on further study in agriculture in order to equip him to take over the management of the estate when the time came. As an agricultural student, he was in a reserved occupation and therefore wouldn't be called up. Mary couldn't help but wonder how much his mother had influenced his decision. Sybil, as ever, could feel for both of her sisters in this situation. She only hoped that it was the right thing for Ted.

In the end, Sybil was extremely proud of both her sisters. Mary had been pale and quiet when returning from dropping George at the station and had retired to her room for an hour before lunch. When she came out she was more herself and greeted the Strallans warmly, if not effusively , and asked after Ted. In return, Edith said he was fine and left it at that for the entire luncheon, instead asking after preparations at the Dower House and how Sybil's family were faring in London. After lunch it was obvious that Anthony was fading, so the family returned to Loxley shortly after.

"Do you think he's ill ?" asked Sybil, a concerned wrinkle appearing between her brows. "He seemed to tire so easily."

"Darling, he's outlived Papa. We've known him for so long we forget he is an old man."

"I suppose so," said Sybil sadly. "I do hope he's alright though. I would hate to see Edith widowed."

"This war is making many women a lot younger than Edith widows," said Mary rather pointedly. "If Edith loses Anthony, at least she will be well set up."

"I'm not sure that will be much help," said Sybil. "I know a comfortable house wouldn't help me if I lost Tom. To lose the man you have lived half your life with ? The father of your children ?"

"I suppose not," sighed Mary. "I couldn't bear to lose Matthew."

But Sybil knew she was thinking about George.

* * *

After the Strallans left, Tom wandered out to the garage to find his daughter. Nora had bonnet up on her car, a small Austin that she had saved up for and bought second hand, then spend countless weekends fixing up. It was so old it needed constant care and attention, but she loved it and the freedom it gave her. At lunch she'd mentioned something about the engine knocking and had excused herself from lunch with her aunts to go and have a look at it. As Tom approached the garaged he could see her slim form bent over the engine, the sleeves of her overalls rolled up to her elbows and her hair tied up in a scarf.

"Want a hand ?" he smiled.

Nora looked up, a slight wariness in her gaze. She loved her father dearly, but was fiercely independent when it came to her skills as a mechanic.

"I thought I might learn something," he said, almost in apology

Nora gave a wry little smile, so like her mother, and pointed into the garage.

"There's an overall in the office."

Father and daughter fell into an easy rhythm. Tom was careful to let Nora take the lead - it was her car, after all - he just made suggestions which may or may not be followed up, handed her tools and acted as a second pair of eyes. His daughter was a good mechanic, able to combine logic and real instinct to tune the recalcitrant engine.

"They've taught you well - here, let me," he said, offering to take the wrench.

"Thanks, Da, but if you tighten that nut I'll never get it off again," she smiled, giving the said nut a good tug herself. "I think that's done it. I'll run Mama into the village later and see how it goes. She wants to visit Aunt Isobel."

Tom nodded.

"She wants to see how she is." Isobel had been laid up over Christmas with a bad cold. "Will you stay ?"

"I think so," she said. "I haven't seen Aunt Isobel in an age. And it can't be fun being cooped up on your own over Christmas. George popped in after church yesterday. She was awfully pleased to see him."

"She'll be pleased to see you too," he smiled.

Nora slammed the bonnet shut and picked up a bit of rag to wipe her hands.

"Da - there's something I ought to tell you."

Tom stopped, and then put the wrench he was holding down on the bench very carefully before looking up at her.

"I've got a new posting. As a dispatch rider. So I'll get to learn about motorbikes as well as cars."

At first he said nothing, but his face hardened and his lips formed themselves into a thin line. It was a look Nora had seen in many times in childhood, most usually when she had done something that she shouldn't and was about to incur her father's wrath.

"Motorbikes."

She nodded, waiting on tenterhooks for the coming explosion. But it never came. Instead he rubbed his face with his hand, as if he could simply rub away the all the worry.

"That sounds dangerous," he said. "Careering about the countryside on one of those machines. They're a menace ! Have you any idea how many accidents involve motorcycles ?"

"Da - "

"I give you a week before you lose control of it and end up underneath it"

"Da ! I'm perfectly capable…"

"Why you ? You're an excellent driver. Why didn't they just leave you on the convoys ?"

At this, Nora looked at her feet a little guiltily.

"Well - "

Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Did you ask for this posting ?"

"Not _exactly_ , Da, you see - "

"What do you mean, not exactly ?"

"Well, I was asked if I wanted to try out for it"

"And you said yes"

She nodded.

"Good God, Nora, could you not just try and keep out of harm's way ?"

"I don't think it will be any more dangerous than the convoys, in fact, I think it will be safer if we get air attacks because -"

But Tom wasn't listening.

"Don't you think your mother and I have enough to worry about ? Can't you at least try and stay safe ?"

She snorted, her derision written all over her face.

"Safe ? Safe ! Da, there's a war on ! No one's safe ! Look at you and Mama and Patrick, living in a city that's being bombed every night ? Have you any idea what its like listening to that on the wireless and knowing you're all there and could have a bomb dropped on you any minute ?"

"Nora - "

"No, Da - I know you worry about me, but I'm doing my duty. I'm fighting for what we all believe in, all the things you and Mama taught us to care about. There is no need for you and Mama to stay in London. You could do what you're doing easily enough from Downton and I wouldn't have to worry. So don't lecture me on staying safe !"

With that she turned on her heels and stormed out of the yard in the direction of the house.

"Nora !"

"Shut up, Da ! Just shut up !"

Stunned, Tom watched her walk away from him and turn the corner, out of sight. He felt his heart plummet into his boots. Sitting down on the running board, he put his head in his hands and wept.

* * *

He was still trembling a little as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, putting the tools Nora had been using back in their rightful places in the garage. It felt comforting to be back in this space, where so many other emotional and highly charged conversations had taken place. He and Sybil had always held the old garage in great affection and it was a place they still visited when they were in Downton. The sound of footsteps on the concrete behind him made him stiffen. He wasn't quite composed enough to face any of the servants yet. Whoever it was sniffed.

"I'm sorry, Da. I shouldn't have stormed off like that."

He turned round, and there was Nora, still in her overalls, her eyes wet and red-rimmed, somehow looking very small and vulnerable. It took him two seconds to close the gap between them and sweep her into an embrace.

"Oh, Nora, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have lost my temper. But we worry about you -"

"I know," she whispered into his shirt. "But I worry about you and Mama and Patrick too. It's horrid hearing everything that's going on on the wireless, knowing that you're in the middle of it. I just wish you lived in the country," she said, pulling back and wiping her nose on her handkerchief. "It would be so much safer."

"Our work is in London, love," he said. "You know that."

Nora sighed and wrapped her arms around him again, burrowing into his chest. Right at this moment she felt very young and small.

"I hate this war. I hate that everyone I love is so far away and that I don't know what's happening to them."

Tom squeezed his daughter harder and placed a kiss on the top of her head, just as he had when she was a little girl. They stood there, father and daughter, holding on to each other and contemplating the world in silence. She tilted her head and looked up at him.

"Can we go into Ripon tomorrow ? Just you and me and Mama ? I love Quin and Patrick and the twins, but it's my last day and I want to spend some time with it being just us."

Tom smiled and let go of her.

"I think that is a splendid idea," he said, and arm in arm, they wandered slowly back to the house.

* * *

 **A/N** : _One more chapter..._


End file.
